The First Domino
by xwLic
Summary: We all know that they are all in Ba Sing Se. Something is just waiting to happen the first domino is in the process of tipping. When that happens... either everything will fall apart, or everything will be okay. Zutara. R
1. Who were you kidding,

Zuko marveled.

That would be a great way to start this story, would it not? However, that is not how the story starts. No, no. In fact, there is little marveling at all done in this story, and the marveling that does happen is not Zuko's marvelment (for I truly cannot picture Zuko marveling).

Before I start this story, I feel as if I should introduce myself. I am the Narrator. I have no name—not one that can be pronounced in words. You know me. Quite well, in fact. I am in every story, every word, and everything thought ever written or spoken. Sometimes, the people whisper the story in my ears from their point of view.

But not this time. No, this time, I had to watch the story closely, and gather all the little pieces together, like a puzzle.

But there's still a piece missing. That's where you, the reader, come in. Hopefully by now, you're hooked. You want to hear what I'll say, what happens in this story.

So come a little closer. Put your ear to the keyhole.

Wait. Can you hear it coming? Can you hear me draw breathe—the scratching sound of pen on paper?

You can stop reading this story any time. You know that. I know that.

But, maybe you won't. So I shall begin. It all starts with….

**Aang**

Aang looked at Katara and blushed. It was early morning—the sun was still prying its sleeping eyes open—and a soft light was on her tan skin. She was beautiful. Her eyes, like the water, her element, stared out far. Farseeing eyes, he thought they were called. Her hair was down, all wavy and crimped from constantly being in a braid. Katara looked over at Aang suddenly and smiled. Aang blushed again and rubbed his bald head.

Hopefully, if you're reading this, you know who Aang is. I certainly know who Aang is. But then again, I have told his story so many times, that I feel I know him quite well. Aang. The avatar. The twelve year old boy who, even with the weight of the world on his small, twelve-year-old shoulders, still laughs and smiles like the kid that he is. Not the person he is becoming—the avatar. But, then again, maybe he all ready is the avatar. The lines between being grown into who you are and being who you were are often quite muddled, misted lines.

"Isn't it a great day, Aang?" Katara asked. No one's voice could compare to Katara's, Aang thought.

"It is! Too bad Appa isn't here to share it with us…" Aang replied mournfully. Katara placed her hand gently on his shoulder in a sisterly fashion (though a tiny spark of hope in Aang's stomach wanted it to be more).

"We'll find him, Aang. For now, let's just try to enjoy Ba Sing Se without getting, I don't know, killed, arrested, or found by Zuko or Azula and those other girls." Aang nodded, smiling inside. Not on the outside, no—but the inner, secret kind of smile that isn't quite ready to face the world yet.

It was a new morning. Something great could happen. Something terrible could happen. Something that seemed great but was really terrible could happen.

And all of those things did happen that morning. But, the most important part to this story, is something seemingly terrible. Something that wasn't so terrible at all. Or maybe it was someone. Someone named…

**Zuko**

Contrary to how it would seem, Zuko didn't really like waking up early—"rising with the sun", as many said. He preferred to sleep late.

But, it seemed, the world was not on his side that day. Now that I think about it, the world rarely ever is on his side. The world is often too busy with other people.

The question was, were other people too busy for him?

Of course, this was not the question going on in Zuko's mind. This is just what I am thinking—foreshadowing, I suppose. Really, I'm just impatient. A bad secret keeper. I'm bursting to tell the end of this story. But, alas, I can't. Right now, I have to tell the beginning.

Anyway, as I said, Zuko woke up as the sun was still dragging itself from behind the horizon. Zuko imagined that he and the sun were having the same thought—_Another pointless, painful day of pretending that I'm someone I'm not, only to do it again and again_. While I am not certain the sun has thoughts, I imagine this is not what it was thinking. But, again, that isn't the important part. The important part was that this was what _Zuko_ was thinking.

"Good morning, Nephew. Would you like some tea? It is still hot," Iroh—the kind old man with the soft, warm soul—offered.

"No, Uncle. How many times must I tell you? We work in a tea shop. I am completely sick of tea. What I want is to sleep!" Zuko replied shortly, a scowl on his scarred face. At these words, Iroh's soft soul felt a little bruised, as soft, warm souls often do—for hard, cold souls can never feel bruised or cold, for they all ready are. Of course, as Iroh was determined not to trouble Zuko, he shrugged and sipped the steaming tea.

"Mmm, the tea is particularly fine today!"

"It is particularly fine everyday, Uncle. Or so you say." Zuko replied, staring straight ahead as he tied his apron on (getting ready to work at the teashop).

Now, I think I might have misled you. When I mentioned the cold, hard souls, I was not speaking of Zuko. His soul was a sad soul, though. Like a small tree struggling to sit it. It just needed someone to nurture it.

Not that there weren't people who would try. There was the girl, Jin, sort of (though this is a story for another time, probably toward the middle of my tale, the part in which you can feel the air around you stir, waiting for what's coming next), there was his Uncle, there was Song, and more would come.

Today, however, there was just a dirty apron and a stuffy teashop to look forward to.

But, as you know, people rarely ever get what they expect, for just when they think they know what's going to happen—when they think that Life is routine, boring… a pattern—something unexpected always happens.

The characters in my tale are all in place now. They're ready for what's coming—because they aren't ready. That's what makes this one such a great story.

The only wild card… the one thing we aren't sure of… is whether you are ready. Are you going to dive it? Or just dip your toe in and test the water?

It's all up to you. After all, this story is being told for you.

**A/N: This story is written in a very different way from my usual ones. I know not much has happened yet, but it will. Like I said, you're the last part I need. So, please, review! There is more.**

**There are all ready pairings—my favourites, of course (the main one being Zutara. The rest is a surprise). Also, this is the longest fanfiction chapter I have ever written, so….**

**Well, review. I need reviews to want to continue. Even if you aren't sure—review and tell me that there's potential or something. Just review. It's nice.**

**xwlic**


	2. when you said you never lied?

**A/N Wow! I've gotten 3 reviews so far… which is totally amazing for me. So. –a bit happy-. Now, I want to tell you—a new girl from another country (-cough- could it be Japan????) is coming. Her name is Shinku (-cough- could it be like in Rozen Maiden?... well, they're not the same). She is one of my… ideas.**

**Here's the second chapter!**

Well, I would say 'Long time, no see', but I believe I've seen you quite recently (though it may have been in the form as many other things). Those of you who came back, I thank you—telling a story for no one's ears is quite a disappointment (though one I've come very used to in all my years as the Narrator—which was even before Time was born). Even those of you who haven't put your head under the water of my story—those who haven't let its currents sweep you into a faraway place that is so different—yet so eerily the same—as where you are, you're coming. You're in the water, right? Even if you can't swim… the only way to learn is if you pull your feet off the bottom and try.

Now—where were we before I left?

I believe it was with Zuko. Of course, he isn't where I will be picking up today (but don't worry—he will play his part before the time is over). No. This time I will start with…

**Shinku**

Shinku had one of the oddest souls I have ever spoken to. It had no colour on its own. So she should've been dead—no, not in the literal sense, but in the worst sense. I believe you know what I mean. But she managed to bring colour into it. How did she do this? I can't tell you now. You should know—I can't give away all the secrets of the story at once. There would be nothing left for you.

Anyway. Shinku. She was pretty—dark hair, not even a warm black—an icy, blue-black, like lightening. Dark, liquid eyes. Creamy gold skin. She was fourteen, and she was on a journey. She was looking for something.

Well, that's what she said. But when you don't know what you are looking for, and when you barely know that you're looking for it… it is, in truth, looking for you.

I will give away this secret, though. The thing she was looking for (without her knowing, of course), was a boy. A small one, with big eyes, a big heart, and a soft, unbreakable soul—rather like a marshmallow. They taste sweet, they are soft, yet they somehow manage to stay together so well.

We know who this boy is. We even know his name—Aang. We know who he loves, who he hates, and what he needs to do. So all ready we have an advantage over our lovely Shinku. But, you see, Shinku was very determined. She was destined not to fail.

The first place Shinku came to on her journey was also the last. I'm not saying that she stayed, however. She went to Ba Sing Se at eleven, and moved on quickly. At fourteen, after searching all over the strange new world she was in, she returned.

That is where she met a boy named Jet—Jet-san, as she would say.

"Excuse me, Oniisan," she said, still using her strange yet similar language. "Can you help me?" Jet had looked at her in contempt at the time. Of course, this involved looking at her, and when he looked at her, his lingering thoughts of Katara—the strong-souled girl with the eyes like water—melted, just like the ice pinning him to a tree all those months ago had.

"Yes, girl?" he'd demanded, in a quiet but firm tone. The tone of someone who knows what they're doing. "What do you need help with?" And Shinku had looked at him with those wide, liquid eyes, all round and dark—so unlike Katara's (though I am the one saying this, not him. He was just thinking how beautiful they were). They weren't the eyes of a child, of the little girl she was. They were the eyes of a girl who had seen so much, so, so much, but still were innocent.

"I… I don't know. But I am looking for something, or someone. Or maybe it is nothing. It is so hard to tell—they are often so much the same, Oniisan." Jet had eyed her—the sort of way one does when making a decision—and made a small noise.

"I am Jet. What is your name?"

"I am Shinku, Jet-oniisan."

"I am not sure if I can help you find that. But I know someone you can stay with. Come on," he replied gruffly. Shinku's eyes brimmed with tears on this sudden act of kindness. Or, maybe they were brimming with tears because she could feel his kindness—she did, after all, feed on feeling. That is how she coloured her soul (yet I still have not told you her whole story. That comes later… like much else). She resisted the urge to throw her arms around him and hug, hug hard.

"Are you coming, Shinku?" Jet asked, turning around from where he stood, five paces ahead.

"Yes, Oniichan! Coming!" Shinku replied, stumbling to catch up. Jet and Shinku walked in a sort of easy silence, the silence of those who know each other. That was, of course, because all souls all ready know one another. Some just have a harder time recognizing the others is all.

As soon as they were in front of Jin's house, Shinku fainted. It was a combination of sleep deprivation, hunger (she had resisted from stealing the people's feelings. She didn't want to hurt them.), and shock. As she went down to the ground, her eyelids fluttering, she muttered, "_Arigatou, Oniichan_."

Then she fainted.

_Thank you, big brother._

**Jet**

When Jet heard the soft thump of a body falling on dust—when he saw the small cloud of gray around the girl—he did nothing. Not at first. He just stared, his eyes impassive.

But, if you were to look at him closely, you would see that the hay had fallen from his lips. Jet had a good soul. Everyone had a good soul, if you spoke to it for long enough. But his soul was rather scarred, and it had closed itself up in order to protect itself, quite unlike Shinku-chan (I call her this to make her feel better. Make her feel at home. Make her awaken.), whose soul ran our and touched everyone else's, so closely that they bled together, all muddled, like the lines of who one was and who one is becoming.

Really, there is a name for this muddle. Only everyone is quite afraid to say it—the present. Now. That is what those lines are.

Well, the next thing Jet did was yell.

"Jin!"

Then, he plucked a piece of hay from the ground. It would be all right. As long as he had his hay, it was all right.

Humans. Such comfort-beings.

Then again, what being isn't? I tell stories as a security blanket. It that power was to be stripped away, who would I be?

If your soul were to be stripped away, who would you be?

Shinku.

That's who.

But she learned to live. Better than us all.

**+++++++++++++++++++++++++ FEELING-FEEDERS+++++++++++++++++++++**

It is later enough. As I said, I am impatient.

Feeling-feeders. Empathetics. That is what they are really called.

You would call them vampires.

They feed of the feelings of others.

A kiss from their unguarded lips could cause a coma—

Who would you be if stripped of your feelings?

If they bit your neck—if they took your blood…

It would cause death. A death caused by apathy.

Shinku hated herself.

Who, if this was their fate, wouldn't?

**A/N Second chapter! I am trying to make my way through all of my characters—they are all main characters, you see. This is sort of inspired by _The Book Thief_, sort of by Daniela. Anyway, please review.**

**Next comes….**

**Well, the people who it is about next is a surprise. xD**


	3. The Sun, the Moon, the Stars, the sky,

**A/N Thank you so much for all the reviews! I have two things to say: 1)I have come up with how Jin knows Jet. I love my reason. You don't get to know it yet. 2) There is a reason—a good one—that our friend Shinku is from Japan. Again, you don't get to know it yet. -.- onto the story…**

**Oh! Yes, and… another thank you, to _The Storyteller's Daughter_. Keep reviewing! I love you all!**

Today, I decided to start with a quote.

This is the beginning of many different startings—lyrics, thoughts, words, names… but today, I chose a quote.

_To me, rain is like...an eraser to a whiteboard... just erasing all the evil and complications and hard ships and smog. An eraser to this whiteboard of a world._

_anonymous_—you know who you are, writer. And I know who you are.

Thing is, none of them do.

Well. Back to my story. I bet that you're all dying to know how Jin and Jet know each other. Dying to know what's going to happen to Shinku, etc. Well, what I'm betting is—there is something you're all dying to know.

Sorry to tell you, but you don't find out today. I will begin another story, for before I can tip the first domino, I have to set all the others up. Otherwise, only one domino would fall.

This is a story of many dominoes.

Today, I will put up the fifth and sixth dominoes.

The first domino goes by the name of…

**Azula**

All right, I admit it—I lied when I said no souls were bad.

But Azula isn't one I've lied about. Azula's soul, while it may have been scarred, twisted, and set it its ways, was not really so bad. If I gave it a colour, it would be blood red. Rather fitting, as red is one of the royal firenation colours.

Princess Azula. There is not so much to say of her that you don't know. I'll start with the basics. She is the daughter—and the favourite child—of Lord Ozai. He happens to have a horrible soul the colour of blue cheese. And smoke. And it smells like sulfur.

But only sometimes.

Anyway.

Back to Azula. She is pretty, smart, and talented. A naturally gifted bender. So, naturally, she can never be the best. The people who are truly best at something are those who try hard, so hard, and give it their all. Their very best, each and every time. Zuko was one of these benders. But, again, this isn't about him. It's about Azula, the clever, pretty, talented girl.

The fire girl who was colder than ice.

Irony. Such a funny thing. An odd word—it contains the word iron, yet I would say that it is much more of a liquid. Ah, well. That's rather ironic in itself, isn't it?

The fire girl traveled with two friends. Mai—a girl so apathetic that her soul is almost pure, pale gray—dead and twisted—but still alive, and Ty Lee, the cheerful girl with the pretty, golden soul and the roses on her cheeks. Ty Lee was wonderful. But, you see, Azula could have cared less if they died. Well, that's not really the right sentiment, is it? That implies that she would have cared. She would have been at a loss for skilled companions, but I imagine she'd get along just fine.

What Azula really cared about was her father's love. Honour. As we happen to know all good little firenation children care about. Azula loved her father, and she mirrored him. Like Father, like daughter. Forget the sons; forget the wives. Father and Daughter are drawn to each other. Even when they fight. They still love.

Azula and Ozai. Sounds sort of like a romantic comedy. Or a romantic drama. The truth is, though, that there is no romance, nor comedy. There is drama.

Truth. The truth is such a pretty, simple thing. But lies are just as pretty.

Sometimes, it's hard to choose.

In this point of my story, Azula was traveling in the general direction of Ba Sing Se. Traveling, of course, to the Avatar. But also to her brother. There was a certain joy she got in seeing him suffer. Actually, in seeing all suffer.

They say insanity is genetic.

They also say that sadism is a type of insanity.

I say it's a type of soul. But what do I know? I'm just the Narrator…

"Azula…" Ty Lee said, trailing off.

"What?" Azula snapped, always ready, always alert, always cold.

"There's something you need to know."

The fire girl made of ice glared, her amber eyes still not looking at Ty Lee.

Or is she the ice girl made of fire?

No, no. That title belongs to someone else. That title belongs to…

**Katara**

Sometimes, Katara believed she loved Aang. But not because she truly felt for him—not in that way—but because of her heart. It was filled with love. All that love, all that love with no where to go… she needed an outline. And, at times, that outlet was Aang. Not that Aang minded the attention of the girl. She was pretty. She held them together, like the binding of a book. They were the loose pages, and she was that other part. The part that, at first, you don't look at. You don't think it's important. But suddenly you realize—that's what is keeping your story together.

That was Katara. But, it seems, there was another Katara. One made out of swiftly dancing flames, contrasting the water and ice girl.

Like I said. An ice and water girl made of fire.

The fire side only came out sometimes. Around Toph, at the beginning, but that faded.

But always around Zuko. It was natural, to fight him with all her strength. With her best. To counter his element with hers. She, too, was one of the best benders. She cared enough to try.

Katara with the water and sky eyes. Her soul changed colours, but always stayed the glassy colours of the sea. All different greens—like grass, like snakes, like a teal crayon, and more. All the blues—sky blue, cream blue, purple blue, deep blue, hyacinth blue, cobalt blue… and all the purples, and all the blacks, and all the whites. And all the shades in between.

At that very moment, the moment I am going to in our story, Katara was simply sitting. The sun was going down. In contrast, the moon was rising. A slim moon, a crescent shape. The kind of moon that, when put with a moon that was in the process of waning, completed a circle. A halo of syrupy, gold light surrounded her. It was not unlike that morning, the morning Aang has blushed and smiled.

She was restless. In need of something to do. In need of… she didn't know. But she felt, in away, thirsty. Like she needed a drink she couldn't find.

And, in an irrational, yet logical, way, her mind decided what to do.

_If you're thirsty, get a drink_.

So, up she stood, and away she walked, little dusty footprints creating a path along the cobblestones, until all the dirt from her feet had gone, gone somewhere where no one would ever step on it again.

What? Did you truly believe that there was no dirt heaven? What a closed, silly mind you must have, if you thought that. Everything has a heaven. And a hell.

Unless you just don't believe in God, but then it's different. For you must believe in something.

Anyway.

Katara wandered. She didn't really know where she was going, nor what she was doing. Just that she was thirsty. Listless.

Now, during all this time, Zuko had been serving tea, in the poorer part of town. One of the outer rings.

It was this ring that Katara found herself in.

In fact, more than just the ring.

It was in that shop.

She sat.

Zuko wandered over, ready to take yet another customer's order. Hopefully, one of the last of that day. There was a festival later, and the tea shop was closing early.

I suppose you can guess what happened.

**The ending. For now.**

I leave you with that. On both accounts. There are multiple endings which cutoff now. I believe I have thouroughly caught you within the net of my story.

So, for the ending, I have come up with my own story. A short one. A little one.

One that leads up to the opening of my next chapter. A sort of lesson, I suppose.

xxxOnce upon a time, there was an old, wise man. The kind that sits quietly all day, staring at nothing. The kind many think to be addled and crazy.

There was also a little girl. This girl's name was an old, wise name, as was the man's. A name that cannot be pronounced by any tongue, mind, or letter.

"Excuse me, old man, why do you sit there every day?" the little girl asked, squinting into the sky. He did not answer.

"Little girl, which do you believe is more important—the fact that the sun rises in the morning, or the fact that it sets each evening?"

The little girl pondered, scrunching up her little face. Finally, she received an answer. She spoke with certain innocence, a certain certainty, and a certain wisdom that only children possess.

"Neither, Grandfather. What is the most important is that the sun stays up all day, and when its light goes away, the moon shines, keeping us safe. What's most important is that there is always a light to show us the way. Because, even when the poor moon gets tired, and has to go home and sleep, the stars watch over the sky, even brighter than usual. So we'll never, ever be alone."

Children are sometimes wiser in the ways of the world than the most experienced traveler, the oldest Wiseman.

The grandfather smiled. "Yes, my child. For when the snow melts, what else can come but spring?"


	4. and the litte light in your eye

**A/N oh, by the way… _The Storyteller's Daughter_ is a book. **

Each night while we sleep, a tiny bubble filled with hope nurses itself into being. And each morning when we awake, that bubble bursts, filling us with enough hope to last the us the day. In contrast, a bubble of despair forms each night, and pops everything morning, flooding us with hopelessness.

This is balance.

Everything has a balance.

For all the pain we feel, we feel just as much happiness.

For every tear, a smile.

Every word, a silence.

I have told you this before. I have told you all, so many times. And, more times than I have told you, you have not listened.

Some other part of you did.

For every imagination, there is reality.

We live in a world of reality. Stark, cold reality, a place of cracks in concrete and smog in the air. A place where magic words and feathered wings are rarely found. And it is this realness, this stark, cold thing—screaming out, _Here I am! This is what I am! I am not perfect, not at all, but love me anyway!_

It is that that makes the world, that makes _us_, such beautiful creatures. The fact that we make mistakes, or that we sometimes bleed. The fact that a knife meant for you can be driven to a wall. It is the cracks in the concrete that bleed out weeds. Weeds that, sometimes, give birth to a flower. In the most unexpected, the most _real_ places, we find beauty.

And it is the beauty that grows from the bruises and the cracks and the dents and the cuts that balances the world.

Balance is a powerful thing.

Reality. It hurts. It makes you either bleed inside or go numb. Maybe, you've all learned to bleed. I hope that, if not, you can learn to do so by the end of my tale.

For, while bleeding hurts, it lets you know that you are alive. Alive and true.

With real, red blood pulsing through you.

Ah, right. Lyrics. I mightn't have told you, but I am giving you a double start in this set of cards. A lesson and lyrics.

A lyrical lesson.

_How high would I have to fly,_

_To lose sight of you, so far away?_

_If I turn my eyes away, I might feel better._

_But I want to be always looking at you from somewhere._

_Because there's no way I could forget you._

_At my wit's end, I simply keep staring up at the sky._

_It's almost as if I were a small bird inside a cage,_

_Searching for the window…_

…_if this unseen barrier around me should tear away my wings…_

-DNAngel, Caged Bird

pinioned: to bid the wings so as not to fly; to confine.

Truly, she was pinioned.

**Mai**

I am not going to talk about her story, not all of it, right now. It is long, painful, and full of cages. Nor am I going to try to make you pity her. She chose to be that way, in order not to be hurt. In order not to bleed.

Instead, I shall tell you of her sleep.

Or, rather, her dream.

Every night, she dreamed. Of the past, of the future, but never of the present. The present was something she thought about when awake, for never when awake was she haunted by the future or the past.

That is something to pity, though. Someone weak enough to close themselves off from the world, and to try to forget the past.

That past that makes us what we are.

But also, that is something to admire. To have the strength to close oneself off from the world, to leave everything you felt behind. Everything but a tiny, miserable bubble of hope. One that pops every morning, keeps going, but is nearly drowned out by the bubble of despair.

But, nevertheless, it was there.

You might have expected more from this chapter, but I will give no more.

No more, no less.

I will give what I have.

But more will come. More about this girl, more about the girl with the bloody, torn wings. More about the fire girl of ice, and the ice and water girl of fire. And about the boy with a scar on his heart, one that was so strong that it showed on his face. More from the girl who, even in this stark, staining reality we live in—staining like blood—kept her soul clean and pure. More from the stone girl, in and out, and the boy who glued smiles to his face, and tried to glue them to his soul, but his soul would not let the glue stick. More from a wise grandfather, and a seemingly innocent girl with a horrifying past and a dark secret. More from a sarcastic, lazy boy who, on the inside, was trying harder than them all. More from a boy who had forgotten his past, even after trying so hard to remember.

Because there is always more.

Even when this story ends, there will be more.

I can't talk that long. You won't live that long.

As always, there is more.

And, as always, the bubble of hope inside of you, the one flooding you with light, knows that.

More.

A word that, when spoken, is longer and stronger than it seems in print.

Just like it's meaning.


	5. the feeling of wind on my soft skin,

_Please don't say those cursed words yet  
Love is light like feathers  
Whisper with a tenor that is kinder than papa  
If you're ready to rob_

_More fragrantly than the dream which I have and is buried in millions of beds of roses  
I am alive  
What to do? In this world that ugly things overran  
Can I go and fly unblemished?  
Alone in the cocoon, even if I continued to learn  
The crystal starry sky is too far away_

_Please don't let your trembling fingertips touch me yet  
A flower-stealer's sweet hesitation  
You may touch me if you're confident  
That you will reach to the depths of my profound chest_

_Isn't there a reason to believe in my prince on a white horse?_

_The purity adorned by a cracked glass case is  
The dying heart of angels  
When I awake again tomorrow, I'll be the briar princess with a sleepless soul  
Who knows the time of centuries  
A crown that cuts into me; in a droplet of blood  
Ahh, now I realize the truth_

_Please don't go yet; with the form of the moonlight  
I seem to have noticed my mistakes  
I want to be surrounded by and destroy the tranquil warmth  
Am I a sinful girl?_

_I don't even understand the meaning behind my tears that are softly spilling_

_Please don't say those cursed words anymore  
Love is heavy like chains  
Whisper with a tenor that is kinder than papa  
If you can be ready for anything_

_Come then, vow with your trembling lips  
The heartbeats of a hunter who plucks nectar  
You can touch me if you have the courage to shoot  
Through the nadir of my profound chest_

_Please make it so that if I caught you, I wouldn't ever let you escape_

_-Rozen Maiden: Traumend, The Domain of Holy Girls_

I know, I know—I haven't made my way through everyone yet. But they will come. I can't resist.

I'm going back to Shinku, Jin, and Jet. That is who the first chapter is. Yes…

But first.

First, I will begin.

And I will begin with freedom. Everything wants to be free. It's what we all work for, survive for. Yet when we finally become free, we don't know what to do. We are scared to be alone. Every single one of us. Birds fly in flocks. Wolves travel in packs. Humans go together as much as possible, for safety. Freedom. That flitting, elusive that that we have all our lives—that thing humans are _born_ with (as I am not human and was not born, I cannot share this claim)—that is the thing we search for. Because it is hidden in plain view. It is hidden where we'd least expect to find it.

Where is it hidden?

It is hidden inside ourselves.

After all, where better to hide a leaf than in a forest?

That is what the Dai-Li thought. They were watching. And, oddly enough, their eyes had a name.

What was that name?

Why, of course, it was…

**Jin**

Yes, that's right. Jin. She was the eyes and ears of the Dai-Li. Sent to watch the boy who had accused the tea-maker of being a firebender, to make sure his memory did not come back. Sent to watch the accused firebender. And, as things always went with the Dai-Li, it was working.

Then he'd brought Shinku. Jin had had to watch after the girl, which was just as well. She might be a threat to the "culture" of Ba Sing Se, this foreign, fevered beauty.

It was because she was watching that she missed Shinku's first word, smaller and shyer than the flutter of a moth's wings. Frailer than shadows.

She had been wetting a cloth with cold water to place on the girl's forehead. Jet had been watching the girl.

"_Furii_," she whispered. Breathed. Jet didn't know what this meant—it was, again, in her different (but the same) language. She breathed again, saying that same word, but in his language. "Free."

The word that sounds like the air on a bird's wing, or the wisps of smoke snaking up from the fire. A word of movement. A word that, again, sounded like it meant. Jet stared. He stared at her lips, partly open, ready to speak. At her fluttering eyelids. At her dewy face.

I think that's when he first felt the stirrings of lust in his heart. Love would come later—it is unavoidable not to love someone you go through hell with (though, ironically enough, it is quite avoidable to fall in love with someone you stroll gaily through heaven with. Hmmph.)—but lust, at least for him, was the beginning.

Jin, returning from the kitchen, saw the soft but hungry look in his eyes. And she didn't like it at all. And not just because of the fact that, if the girl was a threat to the Dai-Li (and, by the narrowing of her eyes, I am quite sure she had decided that).

No. When a boy like Jet—determined, handsome, and, apparently, a threat to even the Dai-Li's powers—when a boy like that was living with you, and there was a small hope that he might fall for you. But never mind that. She always had Zuko. The boy with the scar. Females—human ones—seem to be physically attracted to facial scars. I cannot seem to figure it out, yet whenever someone with a scar comes along… girls swoon and drop like flies, falling in love. Yet another thing that confuses me.

Then again, if thought about for long enough, everything _is_ rather confusing.

So Jin watched. She didn't interfere, like many people would. She watched, silent and calm. Then she threw that reckless, innocent smile on her face and strolled back over to where Jet and the girl—the girl whose name Jet somehow hadn't yet told her—were sitting.

"She's waking up!" Jin said, her emerald eyes wide and shining. Jet nodded, always gruff.

"Yes. Waking up. Which means I may leave, correct?" Jet replied, just wanting to leave that horrible, confining cage of a house that Jin had locked him in. Jin bit her lip, unsure, then nodded.

"She needs a bath. And we definitely don't want you here then, do we?" Jin laughed then, a high, trilling bell-like laugh. A beautiful one. Jet nodded and left.

I feel a need to speak of Jin's soul. I have spoken—if but for a moment—of most of the others souls, have I not? Her soul was, at first, shining and the colour of an emerald forest. By now, it had faded into a soft, rainy colour, sort of like a piece of green construction paper that had been left in the sun for too long.

But the Dai-Li were re-colouring it. Filling her green bubble of hope.

How so?

They said that, if they did everything they asked, they would release her father from prison. Her father who had tried to tell the entire city of the war. Who had risked his life to bring safety, or at least knowledge. To set the people free of their cage. _Stupid father_, the girl often thought. But she thought it as tears trailed down her face, leaving little trails to show the way to her heart.

They were bribing her.

Irony, yet again, it showing it's colours in life. As always. She was working to save her father, working with the people who had lost him.

He would hate her.

If he still lived.

The first words that Shinku said to Jin, when she had regained her mind fully, were these: "Don't touch me, _baita_! _Che_, where am I? Don't touch me, ever."

Those were the last words Jin had heard her father speak, to the Dai-Li.

Jin broke down on the floor, crying.

Shinku watched, her dark eyes like ice, lapping up only a tiny bit of her suffering. Sometimes, it felt good to watch others suffer. Suffer along with you.

To Shinku, it often felt better to cause it.

When she could resist no more, she drained the girl of her melancholy. A tiny, pinching twinge of guilt tugged at her soul. A little bit. But, like it always is, it was more than enough.

But it didn't stop her from causing pain, suffering. Girls with dark pasts—such a painful past!—such as hers couldn't help it.

"If you ever touch me, _baita_, I'll curse you from here to my country, _ne_?" Shinku demanded, her black ice eyes melting, an invisible tear spilling down her soul. Cleaning a tiny path of gray.

Not even knowing what _ne_ meant, Jin repeated in, whispering and drying her tears.

"_Ne_, girl, but please…" Jin didn't know what she was asking, so she trailed off. People rarely know what they're asking, even when they think they do. Jin was one of the smarter, truer people that wasn't afraid to admit that she was just as lost in this world as we all are. So lost that you could never find your way.

Never knowing that you were on it the whole time.

"I'm not lying, Baita-san. I have done worse. Can you imagine what it would be like to have no feelings? To lose your voice? To lose all the colour in your soul, and to feel drained? I could do that to you, and it would only serve to make me better. I have done that before, Baita-san. I trust that you believe me. Now. Don't move. Don't cry. I'm leaving. I'm going on a walk." Before Jin—the now terrified, shaking girl—could protest, Shinku held up her hand. "I'll come back. Don't worry. While I don't trust you, I trust him. And besides, where else have I got to go? No. You'll stay, Baita-san. And I'll go. And then, I'll come. Goodbye. And it's Shinku. My name. Shinku."

Jin watched helplessly as the terrible, beautiful girl walked out of the house, trailing an aura of darkness with her.

As soon as Shinku left, Jin collapsed against the rackety cot that the horrible girl had slept on for those hours, eyes wide, mouth open. In what seemed like a trance of shock.

Little did she know, that as soon as Shinku had left sight of the tiny, feeble house, she had collapsed in the dirt, sobbing the messy, snotty tears of a child. She bit her tongue so hard that blood filled her mouth, but she didn't care. As far as she knew, she deserved it for all the cruel things she had done.

And I must say, I agree. I am not one to try to make people think any better or worse of themselves than they are. I just think truly of them. And the things that Shinku had done were terrible. Sinful.

Yet her soul was still beautiful. She was still a good person. Still an innocent one, for all that she had said, and for all that she had done. Still clean and pure.

For she was trying as hard as she could to free herself from the cage that the world had put her in.

And, unlike the rest of you, she happened to realize—even if just a small part of her—that she had helped build that cage.

But, thing is, she needed help. She was afraid to ask.

But not afraid to admit her fear.

She was human, she was vulnerable, yet there was some part of her that wasn't. A ruthless, cold part, an immortal and strong part.

Sobbing in the dirt, Shinku Harada (for that was her name), sang herself a lullaby.

'…_Please don't go yet; with the form of the moonlight  
I seem to have noticed my mistakes  
I want to be surrounded by and destroy the tranquil warmth  
Am I a sinful girl?...'_

Oh, but what is sinful, really? So many things. And there are so many things it is not. If one steals feelings, is it a sin? If one kills another, but kills them because they were one of the worst killers alive, is that a sin?

I belive that there is only one true sin, only one sin that would condemn you to hell… or something worse, that horrid, gray place in the middle, that gray place of no time and of nothing.

What is that sin?

Grayness. Empty souls. No feelings, at all.

Shinku, for all the bad she had done (and all the good, for the balance stands tall and true), was no sinner. She tried to feel, to paint her gray soul, so hard. Tried with such life to keep herself from that, that, no matter how small it was, her lifeless soul had learned to create a small feeling.

The feeling we all have. Hers was especially strong, though, as there was nothing natural to counter it.

Hope.

She kept on hoping. Hoping for freedom.

_Furii_.

**A/N sorry! I know there aren't two people here, and that this wasn't quite all about Jin, but… it got out of hand. Heh. There were supposed to be two people, like I said, it went crazy.**

**But I hope you liked it. But now, I must flee! –flees- **

**Oh, erm… and, review.**

**And suggest who you would like the next chapter(s) to be about. I like suggestions!**


	6. it's enough to make me see again

**A/N –Sob!- I am going out of town until Monday! I know, it's sad. And it's against my will. But I am, so. This chapter… is… well, different. It's sort of a pause.**

**But, from this point on, while I _will_ have chapters about all the other characters… it will be about Zuko and Katara mostly. It is a Zutara, right? And there you were, thinking I'd forgotten…**

**Actually, I had. But that's not the point… erm…. Well… it sort of is, I guess, but…**

**Anyway, that earliest I can update is Monday. I will try to do it then though.**

**Sorry that I lost my way…**

"_In a simple girl's mind, she believes that a cloud, is not only filled with dust and water droplets, but of a journey. A cloud could take you wherever you want to go. It sees the sand dunes, and the moon-lit hills, and it sees tall buildings, with lights on, showing the hardest of workers. It sees grief, and it sees happiness. It sees life, pulsing through the world, ending no where but beginning everywhere. A cloud, should not be looked on, as something that will bring rain, and sadness, but something that will bring a million wishes, that will pour down onto the world, so the earth can soak them up and grant them to the souls that have wished the hardest. _

But who is to say, what a cloud really is? A scientist? A philosopher? The world's smartest man, or the world's brightest woman? I wouldn't know, because, my mind is owned by a simple minded girl."

_-unknown_

There are things that make people feel a certain feeling. Something close to nostalgia, but not quite. Something painful, said, and beautiful, like tears, or looking into the eyes of an old, warm and wrinkled person—looking into their soul. These things are simple, simple to the point of devastating beauty. A leaf falling from a tree to the soft ground. A drop of rain splashing into a silver puddle. The whispering wind laughing in your ear. The colourful mountains rising from the earth, trailing their song around the world. Things that blow your mind. Their simplicity. The way an ice-covered lake looks. Sitting by a warm fire in the middle of a snowstorm.

Finding the perfect word for the perfect moment, and reciting it like a poem. Even if just a single word, for there is a certain beauty in the perfect word for the perfect moment.

So I am betting that you are waiting.

You must keep waiting, for this is the end. The end of the beginning. A small break before I continue; the small gap of time in which the first domino falls.

From this point on, my story will be mainly for Zuko and Katara.

But, right now, it is about clouds.

They traveled around the city of Ba Sing Se.

They had traveled the whole world.

In their travels, they soaked up the love, pain, growth, death, life, tears… they picked up all the emotions, and all the souls, and all the hearts, and those clouds carried them away.

Over Ba Sing Se, it picked up the angry, bored glares of a young man. The wisdom and patience of an old one. The happiness and youth of a young woman. The strength of another. It picked up the love pouring from the heart of a girl with a blue soul, and the laughter in the heart of a boy. It picked up the determination from yet another. It picked up ice, fire, snow, rain, pain, tears, laughs, hope, despair, but mostly, it picked up love.

And then that love rained down on all of the city. It fed the flowers. It nurtured them. Those flowers would grow to be the strongest and most beautiful in all of Ba Sing Se.

Funnily enough, those would be the flowers that no one looked at. They would push up through the cracks in the cobblestones, climb up the smooth stones of the houses. They would be flowers full of all that love and emotion that had rained down on them, filled up their souls.

And when one smelled those flowers, they, too, would feel all those emotions. And then those emotions would go back up into the clouds, only to rain down upon the world again.

Anyway, in Ba Sing Se on that first day, the day of the First Domino's fall, it rained down more emotion than clouds ever had before.

All of them—Shinku, Katara, Jin, Jet, Zuko, Iroh, Sokka, Ty Lee, Toph, Azula, Aang, Mai… everyone of the people who plays a fairly large role in this story, felt the first drops of rain.

All of them were alone, not with another, yet the rain found them. They all closed their eyes, breathed in as one, breathed out as one. Their hearts beat as one. From that moment on, they were all one, always one. Their fates were entwined, like a vine of briar roses growing up another, until they are indistinguishable from each other.

After that moment, though, they all did different things.

Iroh smiled softly, pulled up his hat, and continued on his way to the tea shop (this was during his break, you see). Zuko frowned, glared, and slammed the door as he entered the shop. Katara smiled, letting the raindrops adorn her eyelids and cheeks a moment longer, and continued on her way, waving little drops of water around the air, but still letting them soak her. Aang laughed and moved back to the shelter of the porch. Shinku let it take her misery away, soak it up into herself. I would tell you the reactions of all the others, but I haven't the time. They are just as important. Everything in this world is of equal value.

But, again, time is an issue.

I have often heard people say that they are "racing against time". I would like to uniform you all—this is impossible. Time neither speeds, slows down, nor stops, where as you all do. Time is never-ending, and has no beginning (this may confuse you, as I have all ready said I was before time. Do not even try to understand it, for there are some things that, as hard as you may try, cannot be understood). People cannot race time. Time will win, for it can go forever, and if one races time… the race shall never end. But you shall.

Everything has a language. Their language may be simple and soft, like that of the leaves, or long and complex, like that of the wind. But the point is, they all have a language. Time itself has a language. All languages started as a simple word—yet another unspeakable, unknowable, ancient word, a word that has never graced my lips nor been on the tongue of men. That word is a language in itself. And all those words together are the language of creation. And of destruction. Truly, they are the languages of life.

You were probably, yet again, expecting more of this chapter. But instead, I am giving you a time to recall your thoughts, tie up lose strings, and breath.

And also, I cannot give more than I have.

I can give only this, no more. But I have all ready said this to you. You all ready know.

For now, just breathe in the beauty of life.

Her face is a map of the world  
Is a map of the world  
You can see she's a beautiful girl  
She's a beautiful girl  
And everything around her is a silver pool of light  
The people who surround her feel the benefit of it  
It makes you calm  
She holds you captivated in her palm

_Suddenly I see (Suddenly I see)  
This is what I wanna be  
Suddenly I see (Suddenly I see)  
Why the hell it means so much to me_

I feel like walking the world  
Like walking the world  
You can hear she's a beautiful girl  
She's a beautiful girl  
She fills up every corner like she's born in black and white  
Makes you feel warmer when you're trying to remember  
What you heard  
She likes to leave you hanging on her word

Suddenly I see (Suddenly I see)  
This is what I wanna be  
Suddenly I see (Suddenly I see)  
Why the hell it means so much to me

And she's taller than most  
And she's looking at me  
I can see her eyes looking from a page in a magazine  
Oh she makes me feel like I could be a tower  
A big strong tower  
She got the power to be  
The power to give  
The power to see

Suddenly I see (Suddenly I see)  
This is what I wanna be  
Suddenly I see (Suddenly I see)  
Why the hell it means so much to me

_-Suddenly I See, KT Tunstall_

Look harder, world. And you will see what you must see.


	7. your kiss again my wings,

**A/N Yay! I am back from New Orleans! And I have almost ALL of the story written in my head (what else does one do on an eight hour car ride—that is for both directions, by the way). Well, I said it was going to be about Zuko and Katara from now on, didn't i? It is! –claps hands- well, here you go…**

_And even though the moment passed me by  
I still can't turn away   
Cause all the dreams you never thought you'd lose  
Got tossed along the way  
And letters that you never meant to send  
Get lost or thrown away_

And now we're grown up orphans  
That never knew their names  
We don't belong to no one  
That's a shame  
But if you could hide beside me  
Maybe for a while  
And I won't tell no one your name

And I won't tell em your name 

Scars are souvenirs you never lose  
The past is never far   
Did you lose yourself somewhere out there  
Did you get to be a star  
And don't it make you sad to know that life  
Is more than who we are

You grew up way too fast  
And now there's nothing to believe  
And reruns all become our history  
A tired song keeps playing on a tired radio  
And I won't tell no one your name  
And I won't tell em your name

I think about you all the time  
But I don't need the same  
It's lonely where you are come back down  
And I won't tell em your name

_-Name, the Goo Goo Dolls_

Hello.

I'm here.

And, consequentially, so is my story. Their story. Your story.

The Story.

So, I will just begin it. Today, my opening was simply the song.

These songs all have meaning to my story, or will start to gain it. They will tell you things about my story that even I cannot.

Katara sat in "holding quarters"—basically, the Dai-Li's nice little way of saying prison. She leaned her head against the wall, her eyes closed, her arms wrapped around her knees.

Zuko was sitting in a similar position, only this position was on his inside rather than his physical being.

Neither one had spoken a word in the day they had been in their together. Neither one had eaten, either, afraid that the food might do something to them.

You are probably wondering how they got into this situation. Or, more specifically, how they got into it _together_, for we both know that the Dai-Li was rather suspicious of both of them.

Well, after collecting the scattered pieces of her shattered-mirror soul, Jin had set off to find either Shinku or Jet, preferably both.

Zuko had come to Katara's table.

She had yelled/hissed something as he clamped his hand over her mouth and dragged her into a small alleyway outside, silently begging her not to fight. He didn't care about her. She would just cause him trouble. He didn't _need_ any trouble. He couldn't handle it.

Of course, because that is simply the way life works, she had started fighting him, leaving him no choice but to fight back.

Jin had come upon them.

Jin, the Dai-Li's eyes and ears.

So, basically, they had ended up in a Dai-Li prison together.

There is so much irony in life that, sometimes, I cannot stand it. People don't even seem to notice it, though. You all never cease to amaze me. Truly.

Anyway, back to the story. Zuko, on the outside, was sitting calmly, quietly, and perfectly alert.

Katara was banging her head on the wall, and it seemed to Zuko that it would not stop (but, of course, it would have to eventually. Katara was quickly realizing what a horrible idea banging one's head against a wall really is).

"_Stop it!_" Zuko hissed in a low, commanding voice. Katara stopped, immediately, for one should always listen when someone's voice becomes like that. Like a snake. Or a cat.

Especially if they are an enemy, if they rarely speak, therefore making every sound they utter of the utmost importance, and, of course, if they are glaring at you so hard that you swear you can feel yourself catching on fire.

Yes. Also, Katara was about to stop anyway.

"Sorry," Katara muttered sarcastically. Zuko rolled his eyes.

As you can tell, they got along like daisies and the sun.

Ha. Actually, it was a bit more like…

Fire and water.

Because, of course, that is what they were. Fire and water.

Meaning, they clashed, cancelled each other out.

And, really, they got nowhere. For how can anyone go somewhere when, every time they step forward, the sidewalk beneath them takes a step back?

After another moment of silence, Katara coughed. Zuko glared at her, making her feel even more uncomfortable, and rather annoyed. She glared back.

"You know, I'll never tell you where Aan—the Avatar—is," Katara said angrily, jutting her chin out defiantly, though it was an unconscious gesture. Zuko made an exasperated snort/sigh sort of noise, almost a growl, actually.

"So you've said, peasant! But have I asked you where he is?" Zuko demanded, his liquid-gold eyes smoldering. Katara opened her eyes wide, a little taken aback. Had he asked? No. Not really.

"Well, why else would you be in Ba Sing Se, where the Avatar just _happens_ to be?" Katara defended reasonably. Logically, even.

The only problem I can find in reason, though, is that it ruins perfectly good plans. It ruins much. In this case, though, it didn't ruin anything. For what I believe to be the first time (as you can tell, I am not very big on reason. Just look at all the stories I've told—many unreasonable things. Logic and I… well, Logic does not like me, nor does she like my job), reason created.

It created the first conversation of many between Zuko and Katara. How could it not? I promised you a story about them. And a story you shall get.

"Why I am in Ba Sing Se does _not_ concern you, water peasant!" Zuko snapped, his temper about to break loose.

"If it concerns the Avatar, then is _does_ concern me, Prince Zuko!" Katara spat, putting a slight emphasis on the _Prince_. She had noticed that his ponytail was gone. And, even though she was just a peasant, she knew what that meant.

We all secretly enjoy inflicting pain on at least one person. Don't deny it. That would be denying yourself, something that should never, _ever_ be done. Zuko simply turned away, clenching his fists. Katara's eyes narrowed angrily.

So their conversation lived a short, fragile life. That is one way to look at it. But it is also the more cynical way.

You could say that their conversation was a crack in the sidewalk. That, too, sounds sad. But you'll see. For what is the reason for cracks in the sidewalk if not for flowers to grow from?

But Katara's thoughts were no longer on the crack in the sidewalk. They were on something—_someone_—else. Someone she had met only three times, each one an accident. Always, he had helped her. He hadn't saved her life—she could take care of herself just fine. Instead, he had saved something else, something without a name. He fought for himself, and never spoke a single word to her. But she could feel him watching her as he fought. The first time he had met her, he had stolen her necklace. She never got it back.

When she thought of him, her heart beat a little faster.

His name—what was his name? Is this what you are asking?

All right then. I'll tell you.

The Blue Spirit.

This world… so full of irony…

For at that moment, the Blue Spirit was thinking of her. More accurately, he was wondering—how could someone that pretty and that skilled be so annoying and angry?

Katara was thinking that, for once, when she'd needed him… he'd not been there. She was glad.

She'd hate for him to be where she was, in that prison. But he was, as you know. She didn't know, though. So she just kept rolling thoughts of him around in her mind, repeating his name like the waves of an ocean, back and forth, in her head, till she slept. In her sleep, she clutched at her neck. At her missing necklace, wondering where it was.

In case you didn't know, that very necklace was only a few feet away from her, tied around the sword of a certain someone. Someone Katara hated. Someone Katara also had an unknowing crush—for it was not love—on. Someone who hated her just as much as she hated him.

They were both in hell, a hell that was about to get worse. However unwilling, they were stepping through the gates together. Together in hell.

I told you—I am too impatient to not foreshadow. But maybe you don't remember. Memories are such fragile things, things that can flit away like a butterfly when they wish. It hurts, but still. One can't remember everything. If they did, so many bad things would have been prevented. What a tragic world that would be. A world where no good could be felt, for good was everyday. Was pedestrian. Was real.

So hush, if you remember. Sing that memory a little lullaby, until it sleeps. For now is not the time to bring it out. Hush, world. Sleep a little longer, like a morning glory—unfurling your petals under the sun's caress.

But then you might miss my story. For what of the moon?

Well. That is all I give you for now. Remember. Those things that are forgotten might as well never have existed.

Zuko and Katara would not be forgetting anything about to come.

**A/N Sorry if that sucked. I'm sort of having writers block. But only because I seriously want to get on with the story, but I can't. Huh. But I hoped you liked it! –hopes-**


	8. makes my heart sing

**A/N Well… this is one long author's note, really. My story—_The First Domino_—is going on a hiatus whose end is indefinite. Sorry. It's just… it didn't flow. Not much happened.**

**I've begun a new story, entitled _The Secret Of The Elements_. It is modernverse, only a different universe than the one that we inhabit. Anyway, I like it better. It flows better. All ready, in the first chapter, something has happened! –gasp- … though not much. It, too, is a Zutara… but also, it's a mystery. Really. It's pretty dang cool. Even if it _is_** **my own story.**

**Also, if you don't want a modernverse/AU story, go read my drabbles, _Melody of a Kiss_. I am allowed to advertise my stories, you know, so I will.**

**But really. Read _The Secret of the Elements_. If you like it, it'll prolly help me update this story quicker.**

**But mebbe not. Ijunno. Anyhoo… I guess you'll hear from the Narrator indirectly for a while more.**

**Apologies,**

**xwlic**


	9. BACK IN BUSINESS!

**A/N This is just a warning… _The First Domino_ is going back into business as soon as I can get it there.**

**Yeah, I know it's not a chapter—I haven't the time for that now.**

**But the chapter will be there.**

**By Sunday.**

**I swear.**

**xwlic**


	10. forgive me, but i believe that im dying

**A/N I know I said that today was when it would be posted, but I am afraid that that last episode not only made me not want to write about avatar for a moment, but it ruined one of my story theories. What is this? Shinku was going to be a metal bender. I have to think of some other plot twists now, so…**

**Have fun wallowing in depression caused by avatar.**

**And, if you practice avatarism, this is probably the equivalent of the anti-Christ. **


	11. wake up my hear chapter!

**A/N Thank you Jun/ Junsui Chikyuu! Jun (soooooo much easier to type, so I think I'll stick with that…) has actually motivated me to update… (I am motivated in odd ways, okay? I never said that I was _normal._ Normalcy is chou-overrated (also, I like to make things super/ultra-ified, so bear with me…). Anyhoo.**

**To the story!!! Now, I have used this song in _The Secret of the Elements,_ and if you were to look at the entire song, you would be kind of freaked. But I can make it sound normal and fitting of zutara. Here goes. Oh, yeah, and the only part of the finale that has actually happened in my story is that Toph can metal bend. Because she is f::cking awesome. **

_Don't you come near me.  
Don't you come close to me.  
Why don't you fear me?  
Don't dance so close to me.  
Don't you come near me.  
Don't you come close to me.  
Because they won't let me stop now.  
Because I won't stop, can't stop now._

Katara jerked awake to the sound of shrill screaming blocked out by tears. If you have never heard this sound, I will inform you now—it is one of the most heartbreaking, terrifying, and annoying sounds ever. But mostly the first two, for it is a sound full of desperate fear and pain.

Her blue eyes groped through the darkness, trying to find something to hold onto before they lost their way completely, and she found a girl. The Dai-Li was there as well—at least five men—holding the girl by her arms, dragging her. Her pitch-black hair fell in her face, and blood dripped to the ground—but whether or not it was the girl's blood or the Dai-Li's, Katara could not tell.

She spared a glance at Zuko. He lay asleep, tossing in his own fears. Katara had a sudden urge to hold him like one would hold a frightened child, but bit her lip and held back.

It's a painful thing for someone so caring and so motherly to obey what someone wants sometimes, for even if they are an enemy, they deserve to be left alone sometime. While even I cannot know exactly her thoughts, I can guess, and I believe she is one of those rare, innocent people who are brought to life by one or two people who can take away the love and replace it with fire.

Katara's gaze drifted back to the girl as the Dai-Li slammed the door to her prison. The girl, as if feeling Katara's gaze, shot her head up. Eyes met. A clash of feelings, the dark eyes and the bright ones and the hope and despair, both tarnished and rusty, met in a small war.

_Shinku, Shinku_, something reverberated in Katara's mind, sounding and looking like the ripples on the ocean more than anything. It was as if her feelings had somehow let her know the name, for it was not a voice, nor anything she'd experienced. It was as if, for a moment, her feelings were someone else's.

How could she know that they were? How could she know that Shinku had power over feelings, something that Shinku herself knew nothing of? No. This was my secret from them, my secret forever, even though it has been told to so many.

"Hello," a croaking voice came from the dark. The girl. She blinked away tears. "Hello. I am Shinku."

"Hi," Katara whispered, "I am Katara." Shinku nodded, and Katara offered a small smile, which Shinku took with relief. An unspeakable understanding passed between them, and they turned away, returning to sleep.

How was Katara to know that, in the morning, the beautiful, odd girl would be gone?

**Shinku**

_That girl_, Shinku thought, _is so lucky. And pretty. She has an aura of freedom and hope about her. I only hope that they do not take it away. It is a terrible thing to have both of those taken away in so short of a time_.

I am more in tune with Shinku's thoughts, for she is different. She is a being made solely of feelings of others, like a piece of writing, and I am the creator of writing. She might as well be me in a mortal body.

Shinku turned away, tucking the hope and happiness away into a corner of her soul, and waited until she heard the other girl—Katara's—breathing slow to that of a sleeping person. She turned back, staring sadly at the girl sleeping. And then, feeling overwhelming anger and fear, she turned. A boy was huddled in the cell with her, and a flame-like scar ensnared the light of the moon that trickled in through the cracks of the cell like water.

And then she felt it—tense, scared, and somehow excited, and with then a more distant thing, guilt, love, betrayal, and dead hope.

_Someone… more than someone… is coming. And I know them_.

**Zuko**

He had awoken and seen a girl in the other cell watching him, staring at his scar. He had lay perfectly still, his eyes barely open. He had watched as the boy and the girl with the green eyes, a girl he knew, a girl he, he _Zuko_, had actually trusted, take the girl away.

He had seen the black eyes of the girl meet his, and something reverberated through him—_Shinku, Shinku_.

And he had then heard something real, something that made him much less afraid than the twisting feelings that weren't his own.

"_Furii_," and the way it was said, though in some language that wasn't his, he new what it meant: freedom.

_How I wish I were free. But even if I left this cell, away from the aggravating brat who is with the avatar, I could not be free. My past will always haunt me, like a shadow. Freedom… simply an illusion_.

**A/N Sorry that, along with being short, it wasn't so good. But I am working my way back into this story, 'kay?**

**p.s. Noein is the greatest evah! (go youtube it is you heartsle anime!)**


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